August 27

"Excuse me, everyone," the announcer at the food pantry made, the megaphone buzzy as he cleared his throat before stating, "I have an announcement to make."

"No duh," May muttered as everyone shuffled around, glancing at each other, whispers of hopes and anxieties filling the air: "Are there going to be more food cuts? Maybe we're going to get some gasoline. I think the power's coming back. There's no way that they're going to cut the water and natural gas supply. I think this might be the end. Maybe this is going to finally end."

There was some feedback, and everyone was silent, some waiting for good news, but most waiting for everything to go wrong. "First of all, I'd like to take some time to celebrate the beautiful sunshine that we have today. Maybe better times are coming ahead."

Everyone cheered, and even Dad let out a little whoop. The skies had fully cleared overnight and were tinged light blue as thin wispy clouds cling to it like cotton strands. When we were walking to the food drive, everyone was just staring at the burst of orange pouring from behind the mountains east of our city as a pale sunlight filtered through the branches, painting the white skeletons of the trees shades of golden, amber, and topaz.

"With that being said," the announcer continued. "We do need volunteers for some work."

The joyful attitude quickly crumbled, and Mom and Dad looked at each other.

"What work?" someone shouted.

"As many of you guys know, during this crisis of ours, the roads haven't been maintained well," he said. "And with the volcanic ash and our current drought, the trees and soil haven't exactly been the most stable and with the exodus of cars and chaos, the highways are clogged and—"

"Get to the point," a woman shouted.

"Are we going to become slaves?" a man shouted.

"My point is that the roads bringing us food are through the mountains," he replied, megaphone blaring loudly. "And we've already lost both of the main ones to landslides two weeks or so back. We need to preserve the last pass because we are going to be trapped here if we don't."

"That's BS," a man shouted. "There's a lot more roads that lead to the city."

"All of those take too long to get here," the announcer said. "And the government doesn't want to waste time, especially when gasoline is sparse, and many other towns are fighting for food shipments too. We've been very lucky to receive all the food that we have received, and I'm sure that you don't want to lose that."

"They can't just leave us," another person shouted.

"We don't want to find out," the announcer said. "So I'm asking for volunteers to help install rockfall netting around the slopes of the road and another group of volunteers to help sweep the streets to keep them ash free."

No one raised their hand, everyone looking at each other to see if another person was going to raise their hand. I saw that Mira was going to raise her hand before Mom whispered to her, "Don't."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Just wait," Mom said.

After a minute or so of no one raising their hand, the announcer said, "Please, we really need volunteers. We'll be giving double rations and two gallons of gasoline to everyone who helps for at least six hours today. Plus, it'll be the perfect way to spend all day in the sunshine on this lovely day."

There were more murmurs in this crowd of three hundred or so people. Dad looked at Mom. "We should do it."

"Too dangerous," she said. "You heard them. If we go there, we're going to be working on slopes that might collapse on us. I don't want to take that risk."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Then how else are we going to be getting gasoline," Dad said. "Just like you said when the Shepards came to our home, we're going to need an escape plan just in case bad people break into our homes."

"I've already got a plan," Mom said. "I got a job at the school's library or some other posting."

"How?"

"I asked the worker there, and she wrote me a note," Mom said. "She's leaving this Sunday, off to the South, and there will be a vacancy. The city pays these people in gasoline, maybe a gallon or two a week. It's far better than doing that dangerous work."

"Do you know if it's even true?" Dad asked. "She could be lying for all we know."

"We've just to trust her word."

"Why wait for trust when we can get gas right now?" Dad asked rhetorically.

"How do you know that they're actually going to go through with their promises?"

"Trust," Dad said. "And a whole lot of angry people if they don't."

"And plus," Mira said. "We're going to help other people and ourselves. It's a win-win for everyone."

"The only people we look out for are each other," Mom said. "You—"

"How can you be so cynical, Mom?" Mira asked. "What if, by not volunteering, we're the reason why the landslide buries the road."

"Or what if, when you both go there, the landslide does occur?" Mom asked. "I can't afford to lose both of you."

There was another feedback of static before we heard a loud, staticky sigh. "I didn't want to do this, but if anyone wants food, they'll have to work for it. Only children twelve and under, seniors sixty-five and older, and people with disabilities or special needs will get food freely. Everyone else needs to contribute."

"You can't do this," someone shouted. "We're not your slaves."

"I haven't had food in days," a woman shouted. "Please, I need food."

"No exceptions to the rule," the announcer said with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this, but we desperately need help."

People slowly began joining the small group of volunteers that came forwards before the threats. The joy of the sun was sucked from their bones as they shuffled into a tight circle in a corner of the plaza, where rockfall netting installation and road sweeping directions were being given.

"We have to go now," Dad said. "At least Mira and I."

"No," Mom said. "It's clear that if they're so desperate for volunteers that the situation there is dangerous or becoming like that."

Dad began to walk away, and Mira followed him before Mom grabbed his wrist. "No, you will not leave. We're making this decision, together, like a democracy. All of us voting."

"We're sacrificing our lives," Mira said. "You can take Grandma and Grandpa and get the senior citizen food and take them home while we bring home the double rations and help everyone else."

"It's not about you two," Mom said. "Death isn't just some one-off thing that only affects you. It ripples and can sweep away everyone around you, all the people that are left over. Would Leon want you to do this to yourself?"

"Yes he would," Mira basically shouted. "Because he actually gave a damn about people."

There was a silence as people stared at us, and Mom glared at them.

"I agree with Mom," May added. "I don't want to die, especially not in a week like this, where the sun is actually out, and I don't want you both to die."

"Well that's two votes on my side and two votes on yours," Mom said. "So everything's on you, Neal."

Everyone started staring at me. Mom and Dad both giving me hard stares, Mira's eyes practically pleading for me to let her go and save our town, and May just staring at my feet, partially bored and partially scared. I hate being in this position and being the one to make that crucial decision, the one that'll make half the people mad and the other half less so.

In my heart, I really wanted to side with Mira. Maybe, even before this event, I would've gone with her and helped fix the side of the roads and help keep food deliveries going and the town happy. It was the right thing to do because it was selfless and brave, and something that all of the characters in the old books that I read would do.

But I began thinking about what Mom said and the ripples of death. If the cliffs collapse today or there is a big earthquake and both Mira and Dad die, I don't know how we'll be able to cope with it. What if Mom or May or I fall into shock, shattered so much by grief that we can't function or do anything, even things like gathering firewood or coming here on Saturday?

And as much as I wanted to go and help, I realized that I also had people that I was looking out for: Charles and his family. If I die, they won't have anyone to help sneak them some extra food to keep them away from the edge of starvation, and I'll be responsible for their deaths. Our whole family has got to stay functioning and healthy and whole, all seven of us, because that's the only way that Charles makes it through because I can't let the only person that was willing to be my friend from all the way from elementary school just turn into dust. I just can't.

"I'm so sorry, Mira," I said. "But I agree with Mom. We've got people we're looking out for, and I don't want you or Dad to die."

"So, it's settled," Mom said. "I'll take my parents to the food drive while you guys wait here."

"That job better be real," Dad said.

When I tried looking at Mira, she wouldn't even give me a glance, and I stared at the floor, hoping that it would swallow me shut. This had to be the worst feeling in the world, a long, deep sense of disappointment that I don't think would ever fade away. Why did I have to be that middle person? Just why, universe?